


seedlings.

by soften



Series: consort verse [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soften/pseuds/soften
Summary: a continuation of the master/pet verse. originally posted on 09/15/2016. this is actually before the baekhyun/yixing fic. again, unbeta'd. enjoy!





	

**Author's Note:**

> a continuation of the master/pet verse. originally posted on 09/15/2016. this is actually before the baekhyun/yixing fic. again, unbeta'd. enjoy!

junmyeon orders sehun and jongin to not touch baekhyun when he’s away.

usually, baekhyun would be the only consort of junmyeon’s to travel with him. being the official consort gives him the freedom to be of an aide to his partner. baekhyun, however, has been quieter lately.

being from the southern part of the land, jongin’s customs towards his master are different than that of the northern lands, or central lands. sehun is more comforting, a quiet force that simmers underneath their skin. baekhyun is all encompassing, the one to take responsibility despite being the official consort, the one who can let the other two do the job that he doesn’t have to do.

jongin, well, jongin is just jongin. the concubine that junmyeon enjoys having to sit down by his side, head leaning against his thigh when he was in the room helping with his family’s business. he’s the concubine that junmyeon doesn’t mind crawling next to him, for he’s the warmest.

sehun and jongin are usually left to their own devices. junmyeon is a respected man, despite being the second son. he is a respected man, and a respected man has a respected consort to follow behind him, two steps, no more or less.

jongin enjoys the sunlight, even if it’s lukewarm because of the climate. sehun brought him close to the river, urging him on. sehun grew up around rivers, around icy mountains and the sun hiding behind the thick plumes of clouds.

jongin never saw a river, but had seen the ocean, when his parents would travel to their summer home. the ocean was never ending, overwhelming jongin’s small chest. his mother, gentle, would urge him on, but he couldn’t. she kneeled into the current with him, letting the water ruin her leisure robes.

“jongin,” she would whisper, the same way baekhyun does. “you can’t be fearful.”

but, now, with junmyeon gone, it’s all he can feel.

*

baekhyun is nowhere to be seen in the morning.

his maidens are quiet, worrying themselves behind their billowing sleeves. jongin passes by them, his own two maidens following close behind.

the maidens bow respectfully to jongin, who tilts his head in acknowledgement. his maidens are some the of the youngest, the ones with rules fresh in their minds. iseul and hyun stand a few inches away from jongin, looking toward baekhyun’s maidens.

“is something the matter with baekhyun-ah?” jongin asks.

the doors open easily underneath jongin’s hands. sehun is probably bathing now, preferring to have warm baths in the morning and a cool bath in the evening. the weather seemed to get to him easily. jongin’s preference was to soak in nearly searing water.

baekhyun is sat, knees tucked underneath himself, at the low table. the maidens seem to want to rush in, to wrap the consort in his robes, to represent the house while the master was away. it seems, though, that the image of baekhyun’s back bowed down toward the table stirs them away.

“baekhyun-ah?” jongin’s voice is quiet, slowly falling to his knees. he never feels comfortable using his height against baekhyun, whose eyes were always warm and steady.

“hm?” baekhyun hums. jongin could see his hand moving swiftly, and realizes that baekhyun is writing. moving forward, his brow furrowed.

“chinese? why are you practicing your chinese?”

baekhyun rests the calligraphy pen down, hands clean of any ink. “it’s always good to practice skills that can be used to help junmyeon.”

jongin never called junmyeon by his name outside of the bedroom. in the bedroom, it was the only thing he could think of calling him, toes curling as junmyeon’s strong arms wrapped around his bowing body, begging to be touched.

in public, it was _master_. sehun was as diligent as jongin, but sometimes slipped at dinner, to which junmyeon playfully pinched his cheek. he was sweet on sehun. they all are.

baekhyun calls junmyeon by his name, in public and in private. he’s heard them, once or twice, the way baekhyun’s laughter shrills loud, like when fingers are tipping their way across his ribs, or down the soft flesh of his marked thighs. he heard the way baekhyun sighed, full of adoration, as he said, _junmyeon-ah, right there, yes, you know._

any visitor to their house knew who the consort was. baekhyun’s hair pin was his and his alone, whereas jongin received anklets that chimed whenever he danced, a beckoning call for wandering hands and disruptions to stretches or dances. sehun received necklaces and bracelets, intricate and wiry, to compliment how each plane and line of his body met at a direct point, pronounced and strong.

but, baekhyun always wore his hairpin. no matter his hair, down or up, the pin caught the light and the emerald within glimmered like a shimmering lake. jongin could remember the first day he saw it, when he was proposed to junmyeon as a peace offering, when baekhyun’s hair dipped into his collarbones and the twinkling charms fluttered in and out of the sarangchae’s walls.

“your hairpin,” jongin speaks, realizing that baekhyun isn’t wearing it. “where is it?”

baekhyun’s eyes dim, but his expression doesn’t change. a true consort, the kind that would make a castle tremble from the constraints he could place on his own heart.

“jongin,” baekhyun whispers, soft. “i’m leaving.”

*

sehun is painting near the pond, lilypads with frogs croaking, jumping into the water as jongin’s shadow rushes past.

“he’s leaving,” jongin pants. baekhyun didn’t even look as jongin walked away after he yelled until his throat was sore, face dimming from the purple it became. junmyeon was warned about his temper, the type that came fabled in the southern lands. “baekhyun-ah. he’s being sent away. junmyeon is making him leave.”

sehun’s expression remains neutral, but there’s a hairline tremor in his hand as he places the brush down. there’s a blotch of paint in the corner, rivulets down, crying bright orange to contrast with sedated green.

“what do you mean he’s leaving?” sehun asks. “how can baekhyun leave? he’s–he’s junmyeon’s–”

jongin shakes his head.

“can we stop it?” sehun asks, placing the brushes that the woodworkers carved, horse hair plucked in varying thickness. “can we convince junmyeon-nim?”

“you know we can’t do that,” jongin replies. he sits down on the bridge, feet dangling. if he points them, slightly, they edge against the water, fishes running from the intruder. “junmyeon isn’t our husband, sehun.”

sehun hums. he’s been the rebellious of the two since he came as a peace offering from the north. the youngest, the ripest fruit in junmyeon’s crop of three. jongin catches his gaze, noticing the glint in it.

“i have an idea.”

*

baekhyun’s room smells of incense, of cherry blossoms and perfumes that are so subtle that jongin doesn’t pick them up right away.

jongin thinks baekhyun is beautiful, in the sheer sleeping robes that help keep his body cool in the hot weather. baekhyun’s neck is slender, the robe an illusion. jongin can see the outline of his supple thighs, his rosy pink nipples, the gentle outline of his cock.

it’s breathtaking.

which is why junmyeon refuses to let them touch baekhyun, probably. when sehun drags them inside, baekhyun standing to ask what’s wrong. he is gentle with them, the bridge between husband and concubine.

“you’re leaving,” sehun tells baekhyun, crowding him against the drapery. baekhyun’s fingers are anxious, trembling as they press against sehun’s chest. jongin can barely see baekhyun, a hint of white sheer robe and small feet the only picture he gets.

“sehun-ah,” baekhyun whispers. his fingers cradle sehun’s face. his voice is broken, ragged. a consort whose heart is beating too wildly for their contained meaning. “please–”

it doesn’t take long for jongin and sehun to crowd baekhyun, caging him in between their bodies. he’s small between them, body reacting wildly to the mixture of feelings as their hands wander.

“your thighs,” sehun whispers. “junmyeon’s prized possession, aren’t they?”

baekhyun gasps as jongin’s hand pushes the slit slowly open, body on display. jongin can hear the memories of baekhyun’s shrill laugh when junmyeon takes him to bed, in their marriage room, this room.

baekhyun’s mouth is kiss swollen, gasping on his knees as sehun fucks into him. jongin watches from his side of the marriage bed, the elaborate beading keeping them a mere hint of what is behind royal doors. there is nothing more than desperation as baekhyun gasps out, sehun-ah, yes, right there, my darling.

here, baekhyun is in control. jongin’s hands trip over his ribs, to the hair pin that baekhyun has tangled. he takes it out swiftly, letting baekhyun’s hair fall over his chest, keeping him covered in a blanket of black hair, sleek and smelling of perfume.

“my beautiful jongin-ah,” baekhyun moans as he sits on jongin’s cock. baekhyun is warm. his wrists soft, trembling as sehun bites over faded marks on his thighs. junmyeon will punish sehun for it later, tied up and abusing his thighs with his cock, mouth and hands until he’s sobbing. now, he takes and takes and takes.

baekhyun cries when they both ease into him, open with come and desperation for an anchor. he trades kisses between them, mumbling about how safe he feels. they’re bigger than him, his body nothing more than a whisper between them. he shimmers with sweat, parts of his body mottled with bruises and red from blush. he can barely handle the both of them, heads of their cocks eased into his entrance. their hands are sleek with oil, the sheets filthy.

baekhyun cries, hands caught between flexing over and over, like a heartbeat. chest shaking like humming bird bones, heart rattling.

it’s the last time, jongin thinks, pressing his back over baekhyun when they’re sated and drowsy. sehun presses against baekhyun’s front.

“thank you,” baekhyun whispers, a gasp so quiet it aches as jongin slides the betrothal pin back into its rightful place.


End file.
